a birthday dinner
by Shiluette
Summary: Atobe/Ryoma friendship (or preslash). Atobe's birthday is coming up and Ryoma treats him out to dinner. Atobe is left breathless and dumb.


Trope when they are university students together and they snark about literature and tennis. And Atobe's birthday is coming up. Mostly dialogue, but I didn't know how to turn this into a proper oneshot, so, here is my little mess of a drabble.

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He hates Atobe sometimes.

Or, to be clear: he hates the parts that define Atobe, who has everything that anyone could possibly need, and therefore do not need anything. He wonders why he even bothers. Next week is monkey king's birthday and he wishes vehemently they still did not get along so he can knock the older boy out in tennis instead of worrying over a stupid problem.

He sighs and lets his head thump against the desk.

Across from him, Atobe gives him a small kick. "It's not that hard," Atobe says, somewhat nicely. Ryoma isn't in his right mind to read between the lines between Atobe's show of irony or encouragement. "Just a few more words and you're done."

"Oh, shut up," Ryoma muffles against the wood, "Stop treating me like an idiot."

He doesn't bother to lift his head up the table to see Atobe's expression, but he does receive a harder kick. "Finish this, so we can go to dinner," Atobe says, "Honestly, Echizen, what can you accomplish in life besides tennis?"

"Apparently dying in the company of a rich monkey," Ryoma says. He lifts his head again. "And I _am_ done, analysis and everything. Let's go eat."

Atobe gives him a flat look. "I don't think Flaubert would be done in five minutes," he says.

"So says you." He stands up and Atobe has no choice but to follow suit, albeit with a small frown. "Stop acting like I killed off your dog. It's a dead author."

"A great dead author," Atobe correct him.

"And who is therefore giving me hell on my finals." Ryoma scowls and ignores a girl passing by, who is petit and pretty, giving him a cordial wave.

"Must you impose your grouchiness on everyone?" Atobe says, looking back at the ignored girl, who, Ryoma knows, does not mind in the least, "The poor girl."

"Poor me," Ryoma says, "Having to suffocate by tolerating your company."

"And wiping off my wallet with your insufferable common tastes."

"Does it feel good, insulting me endlessly?" Ryoma wonders aloud, and when Atobe is matching his step by his own step, he sidesteps over to aim a low kick. Atobe dodges with a bigger scowl.

"I only speak the truth," Atobe says, "Unless you're treating today."

That…seemed like a good plan, considering where Ryoma's own thoughts have been meandering for the past hour. He could buy the older boy a dinner, a _nice_ dinner, mind, and call it quits. That would work. He nods a little, not registering Atobe's surprised face. "Huh. Okay." He says it half to himself, still lost in thought, but Atobe hears him anyways.

"Okay?" Atobe parrots, "Okay? Did you just offer to buy me dinner, brat?"

"Are you charmed?" Ryoma waves his inner musing aside to give Atobe a crooked smirk. "I will, since you're being such a whiner about it."

"I am not a whiner—"

"Let's go over to that new steak place that opened up," Ryoma cuts off, and his smirk grows bigger when Atobe stops and raises an eyebrow at him, more taken aback than ever.

"You," Atobe says, slower this time. "You. You don't like Italian cuisine."

Ryoma makes sure to muster all the nonchalance he has on his shrug. "You do, though, don't you?" he says, and he has the additional pleasure of shutting Atobe up all the way up to their main courses.

Atobe looks at him puzzled across the table and the candlelight makes his eyes glow. Ryoma looks back at him and gives him the menu which he accepts without a word (still silent, good, Ryoma thinks, maybe he should just bankrupt himself so he can drag along a silent monkey king for all eternity) and Atobe orders a semi-decent steak that Ryoma waves off with an even bigger expensive price tag. Atobe narrows his eyes.

"Why are you being nice," Atobe says, "It's intolerable."

"I'm not allowed to be nice?" Ryoma wonders if he should feign hurt. He does have an ulterior motive after all, but he still thinks that he deserves gratitude, at least, considering that he wasn't a ridiculous millionaire to spend money in fancy wine bars and restaurants but is still willing to spend it on an ex-nemesis. But Atobe frowns at him a little. He has his eyes crossed from squinting.

"It's unnerving," he says, "I feel like we should have never left Flaubert."

"I did the analysis," Ryoma says, rolling his eyes. "Also, I am done with French. Let's play a match after." A dinner and a match, he decides. It should be enough.

That gets at Atobe, though, and soon he leans back on his chair and a familiar smirk is back. "Oh?" he says, his voice lighter than five minutes ago, "You want a match, is that it?"

"What?" Ryoma is not catching the tone, although he doesn't like the smirk that is slowly accompanying Atobe's voice.

"You're bribing me," Atobe points out, a little too gleefully to be called mature, "For a match. That's so sweet, Echizen."

"What—no," Ryoma waves his hand, and rolls his eyes. "No. You're not allowed to think that. Don't be stupid. I don't need to bribe you for a match. _You_ should be the one begging, not me."

"Me?" Atobe pulls himself up, haughty at once. "Why would I—"

"Clearly, I'm the better tennis player," Ryoma challenges. Atobe's eyes glint.

"Don't be idiotic," Atobe scoffs, "You haven't been playing me lately to know your place in the realm of greatness."

"Which excludes you out."

"Which puts me at the top of the—"

"Gentlemen, who would be the one with the aglio olio?" A smooth voice interrupts them.

"Oh." Ryoma blinks and looks up at the waiter. "Oh. Me."

"Here you are." And a nod to Atobe. "Your steak would be served shortly, sir."

"Thank you." Atobe's voice sounds formal and cool until the waiter walks away. He remarks with a grimace, his disdainful voice back in place, "Your tennis skills are like the pastas that you prefer. Bland and tasteless."

"Did you just insult my choice of foods?" Ryoma picks up his fork. "That's low."

"I wouldn't play such childish games with you if you told me this dinner was a form of bribery, now would I?"

"This," Ryoma says, finally irritated, "This. Is your stupid birthday dinner. Dinner and a match. Happy early birthday, you moron."

He shoves a forkful of pasta and is pleased to see Atobe's stunned face, for the second time that evening.

Unfortunately, the waiter cuts the silence short this time.

"Your steak, sir. Enjoy your meals, gentlemen."

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"I didn't know you knew my birthday," Atobe says, disbelievingly.

Ryoma sighs and flops on his bed. After dinner, Atobe was still a little too stunned from his declarations of intent, and Ryoma had just realized that he left his bag at Atobe's place. Atobe's bed was comfy, he thinks, testing the bounce with a small jump. Comfy and soft. He drowns out Atobe's voice and answers back half-heartedly.

"You've been saying that for the past hour. Get over it."

"Of course, I assumed everyone would know my birthday, considering what day it is, but you of all people—"

"Monkey King," Ryoma finally snaps at the ceiling above him. "I am never doing anything nice for you ever again, so shut up. I will be sociopathic to you forever."

That shuts him off for a minute. Then: "Echizen, what are you doing spread over my bed? Is this another part of my birthday gift?"

Ryoma jumps up from the bed in a flash and throws a pillow at Atobe.

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A/N: I made these boys into idiots. I made Keigo into a moron. I never make Keigo into a moron! First time for anything. Reviews are always welcome!


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